Although this is not my neighbor, it looks a lot like him. He walks with one stick and a small pistol.

Today I got in a fight with my neighbor, “New England”. No, this is not my typical behavior. Let me back up to the day that ignited the feud. During the November break from school, my daughters were home while my husband and I continued our work from our home office. Tom had driven over to a client’s office to get final approval on the December cover of our real estate magazine. I was upstairs with the girls when I noticed a dog in our yard. We have 13 pet chickens who roam freely on our acres during the day, and this dog was being aggressive towards them.

I ran outside, so scared I couldn’t catch my breath, running at the dog and shouting, “Get out! Get out!” The dog jumped over the rock wall, but then hopped right back into the yard. He kept chasing the chickens and bit one. Again I shouted and charged. The dog, a large husky type dog, walked towards me, then past me and out our front gate. A third time the dog jumped back into the yard, chasing and snapping at the chickens. “Get out!” I shouted. I grabbed a rake and swung at it. I threw rocks. I felt defenseless. I looked to the sky and stated, “Why won’t anyone help me?”

Just then, a tenant on our land came out of his van to see what was going on. He threw rocks at the dog too. Meanwhile, my daughters, hearing my screams, phoned their father on his cell phone, and he came screeching back to the house. Screeching is the key, as the dust on our dirt road was flying through the air.

The dog was detained and removed by Animal Control. The chickens, though short a few feathers, were unharmed. The neighbor, “New England”, was dusted out. His words. He was dusted out when Tom drove up the road in such a hurry. He had not spoken to us since… until today.

This morning I overheard yelling and swearing. I heard my husband ask, “Why didn’t you help my wife when you heard her screaming?” I heard “New England”‘s reply, “She wasn’t screaming!” More back and forth exchange, f-bombs and screw you’s. Then only one continued to yell… it was “New England” aka Eric. I stepped outside, and saw him walking up the road, swearing aloud.

“What are you talking about?”, I asked.

“F you! Go back in your house!”

“I did ask for help. Why didn’t you help me?”

“F you! Get out of here!”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a pussy. Do you want to borrow my Midol?”

“Blah blah blah” – I have to admit, I tuned him out. My adrenaline made me a little deaf. Perhaps the same deafness that affected him when he saw the dog charging my chickens.

“Why don’t you go change your tampon, Eric? Do you have cramps? I can loan you the Midol?”, I continued with my derogatory barrage.

He continued on his way, muttering loudly to himself. A handyman installing a drain on the side of our house said, “I love you.” Tom said, “I told you my wife was cool.”

I don’t want any further arguments with the guy. He chose not to come to my aid although he was apparently near enough our home to have the flying dirt fall on him… or perhaps on his furniture which he had to dust. You don’t want to help me? No problem, but don’t lie about me. I did ask for help. I did receive help. You, neighbor Eric, can still borrow my Midol or perhaps my lemon-fresh furniture polish.

• Have you ever had an argument with a neighbor, and were you able to resolve the problem?